Another Chance
by Alohaemora
Summary: "Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right." —Oprah Winfrey [A gift for Gizzy's Mama; also, a companion piece to 'Thirteen Days of Christmas.']


Author's Note:

Hello, lovely reader! This one-shot unfortunately won't make much sense if you haven't read my story 'Thirteen Days of Christmas.' There are a lot of characters and details that carry over. I hate to egoistically self-promote, but I do highly recommend taking a look at TDoC before reading this.

* * *

 **Ten.**

Molly and Desmond

31 December 2035

Molly stood outside Vintage Village, staring at the double doors of the thrift shop. A bright orange sign taped to the glass said _'We close 10 P.M. on New Year's Eve!'_ Molly glanced at her watch; she had ten minutes to make a decision.

She gazed at the sign. Then, swallowing, she pushed open the doors—but when she arrived at the front of the store, her stomach dropped. Desmond was not behind the clerk's counter. Instead, a girl with thick black eyeliner glanced up, eyebrows raised.

"Can I help you?"

"I—sorry—I-I was looking for Desmond," Molly stammered, feeling foolish.

"He's not working tonight," the girl said in a bored voice.

"Oh," Molly blinked. "Okay."

Ignoring the lump in her throat, Molly turned and hurried up the store. Then, ducking back onto the freezing London street, she closed her eyes, leaning against the building.

When would she learn?

Desmond was a nice man—and that was all. The record—it didn't _mean_ anything. Life wasn't kind enough to break her heart and mend it in the same year—

"Molly?"

Molly's eyes snapped open. Desmond, wrapped in a thick coat, was standing on the pavement before her, smiling incredulously.

"Desmond," Molly gaped. "You…you remember my name?"

Desmond laughed. "You're pretty hard to forget," he said in his deep, rumbling voice, grinning. "Did you like the record?"

"I think I listened to it ten times," she breathed. Then, she frowned. "Er—what're you doing here?"

"I'm meeting some friends for drinks down the street," he shrugged. Suddenly, his face brightened. "Hey—d'you want to come? They've got a jukebox—I'll make a Beatles fan of you in ten minutes."

Molly blinked. Slightly openmouthed, she looked into Desmond's twinkling green eyes—and her heart somersaulted.

She had made mistakes, trusting her heart in the past.

But tonight…it was a new year. And perhaps—just perhaps—she could afford to make a few more.

"I'd love to."

 **Nine.**

Lucy and Lysander

31 December 2034

Lucy had been staring at the pocket of Lysander's robes for nine hours. Nine hours they had been dozing together on the grassy slope of Stoatshead Hill, the weight of the tiny black box in Lysander's pocket growing heavier between them by the second, and he still hadn't asked.

Merlin's _pants_ , why wouldn't he _ask_ already?

She had found the box in their dresser in April, and her heart had very nearly burst from her chest. When August had rolled around, she had braced herself, dressing lavishly for her birthday dinner date.

Nothing.

Now, nearly nine months later, she was losing hope. _Why_ wouldn't he ask? Had he changed his mind? Lucy's stomach swooped unpleasantly.

Lysander was discoursing sleepily on constellations, his arm pointed at the sky.

"…That one's Cygnus, the swan. See that star on the tail? That's Deneb…"

Lucy stared at his pocket, her heart pounding.

"…and the star on the head, that's Albireo—"

"Lysander," Lucy said abruptly. "Will you marry me?"

There was a long silence.

Then— "What?" Lysander asked.

Lucy swallowed. "I'm sorry, I just—I saw the box in our dresser, and—"

"Box?" Lysander sat upright. "You mean that Jordan's Jewelers box? Oh, Luce…Lorcan just used that box to give me some Venomous Tentacula seeds. It's…it's just seeds."

Lucy gaped at him, aghast. "No," she whispered.

"But if you'd waited nine more days," Lysander continued softly, "I'd have a ring—I'm seeing my gran next Tuesday to get it."

Lucy's eyes widened. Lysander was rummaging in his pockets. At last, he withdrew an old keychain made from Butterbeer corks and scrambled onto one knee.

"I love you, Lucy," he said, beaming. "And yes, I'll marry you."

Lucy laughed, her eyes filling with tears, as she reached out a trembling hand and accepted the keychain. Then, she flung her arms around him and tackled him into a kiss, just as somewhere out in the distance, fireworks began to sound.

 **Eight.**

Rose and Scorpius

31 December 2046

Rose glanced at Scorpius's reflection in the vanity, as he entered their bedroom in an irritated huff.

"Jean's putting on makeup, Lyra's trying to decide on an outfit, and I finally managed to drag Leo off his broom and into the house for a shower," Scorpius muttered, yanking his T-shirt off and tossing it onto the bed. Sighing heavily, he walked over to his dresser and began fishing around for a set of dress robes. "Who knew eight-year-old boys could be so difficult?"

"Oh, I'm sure your parents have a lot to say on the subject," Rose said lightly, applying a final dash of lipstick and smacking her lips at her reflection.

Scorpius rolled his eyes at her in the mirror, pulling on his dress robes and smoothing them out.

"What time does Al's party start again?" Rose asked, setting her lipstick down on the vanity and turning to face Scorpius.

"Eight," Scorpius said, glancing at his wristwatch. He snorted. "At this rate, we'll be lucky if we make it out the door by then."

As if on cue, there was a resounding _BANG_ from the corridor outside their bedroom, followed by several loud shrieks and expletives.

Rose and Scorpius exchanged a weary look.

"Leo," Scorpius mumbled, drawing his wand. "I'll go."

"No," Rose said, stepping forward and touching Scorpius's wrist. "You get ready. I'll take care of this." She gave him a tired smile, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

Without warning, Scorpius wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into an embrace. Rose let out a squeak of surprise, but then laughed, relaxing against his chest.

"Just a few more years," Scorpius murmured, "and Leo will be at Hogwarts—and I'll have you to myself."

Rose closed her eyes, swallowing heavily. Then, at last, she pulled away, meeting Scorpius's gaze.

"I think it's going to be a little more than a few years," she whispered.

Scorpius frowned. "What—?"

"I'm pregnant."

 **Seven.**

Albus and Emily

31 December 2022

"Why the hell is Rose looking at you like that?"

Albus glanced up from the Exploding Snap game that he, Hugo, and James were playing on the hearthrug of Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's parlor. Sure enough, Rose was glaring at him from the sofa, where she and Lily were painting their nails. Their parents had gone to the Leaky Cauldron for the evening, leaving James in charge.

"It's nothing," Albus mumbled, turning back to the game. "School stuff."

James snorted. "What did you do?"

Albus scowled. "Why d'you assume it's my fault?"

"Because you, unlike Rosie, muck up on a regular basis," James said snidely. "C'mon, out with it—or I'll ask Rose."

"It's none of your business," Albus snapped.

James turned to Hugo. "D'you know what this is about?"

Hugo glanced at Albus. Then, he nodded, smirking.

James looked between Hugo and Albus. "Right—well, someone better spill, or—"

"I kissed Emily," Albus hissed, cheeks burning. "There. Happy?"

James's jaw dropped. "You— _what?_ "

"He kissed Emily," Hugo repeated gleefully. "As in, Emily Smith, Rose's best friend."

James gaped at Albus. "Bloody hell—have you become some sort of casanova since I graduated?"

"No," Albus retorted. "A bunch of us were playing this Muggle game called…Seven Minutes in Heaven, or something, and…well, they sent me and Emily to a broom cupboard for seven minutes, and—" Albus swallowed, "—we weren't _planning_ on doing anything, but—"

"—it happened anyway?" James's eyes gleamed. "Well, who would've thought ickle Albie had it in him?"

Hugo snickered. Albus glowered at James.

"Are you going to ask her out?" James pressed.

Hugo snorted. "Rose would kill him."

"Eh, she'll get over it," James said unconcernedly. He looked at Albus. "C'mon, Al, what do _you_ want?"

Albus stared down at his knees for several moments, his mind racing. Then, at last, he faced James.

"I reckon I want more than seven minutes," he whispered.

James laughed.

 **Six.**

Freddie, Nayla, James, and Alice

31 December 2032

"What're you gawping at? Not that I even need to ask," said a snide voice directly in Freddie's ear, and he jumped, swiveling around in his chair.

"Merlin's bloody beard, you're going to kill me doing that," Freddie muttered, running a hand through his curly black hair and glaring at James. "I see marriage hasn't made you any less of an arse."

"Hey, it's been six hours—let's give it some time," James snickered, dropping into the empty chair next to Freddie's at the Ignatia Wildsmith Banquet Hall—where James and Alice had tied the knot earlier that evening. The reception was currently in full swing, the dance floor crowded with guests.

Freddie rolled his eyes at his best friend, tugging at his necktie and leaning back in his seat. "Where is Alice, anyway?" he asked, glancing around.

"Right here," said a voice from behind him, and Freddie jumped violently again as Alice's round, flushed face materialized suddenly at James's shoulder, beaming. "Hi, love." She bent and kissed James's cheek—and James grinned stupidly.

"Eurgh," said Freddie in disgust. "It's only been six hours and you two are already insufferable."

Alice narrowed her eyes at him. "At least I haven't spent the entire evening gawking the girl I fancy."

Freddie sat bolt upright, spluttering. "I haven't—"

"Please," James snorted, shaking his head. "You've been staring at Jordan so hard I'm surprised your eyes haven't popped out of your head."

Freddie glowered.

"Well, I don't blame you," Alice said lightly, resting her chin on James's head. "She _does_ look lovely tonight."

"She's _Nayla_ ," Freddie burst out, eyeing Alice incredulously. "I've known her since before she could walk! She's _six_ years younger—"

"She's a beautiful, young woman," Alice said, raising her eyebrows. "And if you don't make a move, somebody else will."

Freddie mouthed soundlessly at Alice, but she had already shifted her attention back to James.

"Come, love," she said airily, her eyes sparkling. "I think I saw an empty broom cupboard outside."

James made a strangled noise, scrambling to his feet and seizing Alice's wrist—and within seconds, they had disappeared into the crowd. Freddie rolled his eyes, turning back to face the hall. Immediately, his eyes landed on the slender, perky, olive-skinned outline of Nayla Jordan, where she was leaning against the bar counter and nursing a cocktail. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. This was _Nayla_ —Nayla _Jordan_ —his _godparents'_ daughter. She was younger than his sister, for Merlin's sake! She was _six_ years his junior, practically _family_ , _completely_ out-of-bounds—and she was talking to one of James's Puddlemere United teammates.

Freddie's blood ran cold.

He gazed, openmouthed, at the scene before him, his ears ringing painfully. _GO!_ screamed his brain, _NOW!_ roared his chest—and suddenly, before he knew what was happening, he had leaped to his feet and set off across the dance floor, towards the bar.

"Good evening, Princess," Freddie smirked, sliding easily between Nayla and Elijah Webb—and with a covert flick of Freddie's wand, the unsuspecting Puddlemere Beater was sent stumbling backwards. "How's my favorite snitch?"

Nayla scowled at him. "What d'you want?"

"Nothing," Freddie said simply, holding his hand out to her. "Care to dance?"

Nayla's eyebrows shot up her forehead, and she blinked, several times. Then, her eyes narrowed.

"Are you taking the mickey?" she asked in a dangerous voice.

"No," Freddie shook his head.

"Am I going to have green hair at the end of this dance?"

"What? No, of course—"

"Are you going to ditch me for the first blond slag that catches your eye?"

"Well, blond's not really my type—" Nayla's eyes became slits. "No," Freddie said hastily.

Nayla lifted her chin, scrutinizing him for a long moment, her hazel eyes piercing. Then, she reached out and took his hand, the corners of her lips lifting into a small smile. "All right, then."

 **Five.**

Hugo and Mac

31 December 2042

"You know, this isn't exactly what I had in mind when I asked if you wanted to spend New Year's together," Hugo grumbled, setting the scotch glass he had just finished cleaning down on the Three Broomsticks' bar counter.

Mac raised her eyebrows at him as she swept by levitating five mugs of ale. "You should've known better than to ask a barmaid out on the busiest night of the year."

Hugo grunted. "Couldn't you have taken the night off?"

"I could have," Mac said airily, carefully lowering the mugs onto the bar counter—where they were retrieved by a slightly tipsy, old wizard. "But I heard a rumor that Rosmerta's finally retiring this spring, and I thought taking New Year's Eve on might earn me a few extra points in the race to become her replacement."

In spite of himself, Hugo chuckled. "I knew there had to be an ulterior motive."

Mac laughed. "Well, that's not the _only_ reason. I've always loved the atmosphere of a pub on New Year's," she said, leaning back against the bar and closing her eyes. "The first New Year's I can remember was at the Leaky Cauldron when I was five. There's just something about it, y'know?"

Hugo nodded grudgingly, and Mac smiled, darting past him into the inn's kitchen to fetch an order of chips. Hugo watched her go. Then, sighing, he turned to face the swarming pub. The past five New Year's Eves, he had spent alone, on the other side of the bar counter, but Mac…well, she had changed everything. Hugo's heart swelled with warmth.

Suddenly, he felt a gentle hand on his elbow, and he swiveled around.

"Thank you," Mac said softly, "for being here tonight." She grinned impishly, standing on tiptoe to whisper in Hugo's ear. "I owe you."

Hugo's cheeks flooded with heat. Swallowing heavily, he glanced at the clock on the wall above Mac's head. _Damn_ —still five hours until midnight.

 **Four.**

Roxanne and Henry

31 December 2033

It was nearly midnight when Roxanne let herself into her flat on New Year's Eve, numb with exhaustion. She had spent every waking minute of the past four days poring over lists of deceased curse-breakers and destroyed artifacts. A dreadful gloom had settled over Gringotts since the explosion in Paris. Even the goblins were mourning—though Roxanne was certain that it had more to do with the loss of half-a-million galleons in treasure than with the loss of forty-eight lives.

Rubbing her face, Roxanne faced the sitting room. There was a soft splashing of running water from the kitchen doorway—Henry always did dishes when anxious.

Roxanne walked inside. "Hi."

Henry spun around. "You're home."

Roxanne nodded. "Sorry I'm late," she said, sitting at the table. "The final statistics came in tonight. We had to calculate…damages."

Henry's expression became heavy. "Were there…more people you know?"

Roxanne shook her head. "No, only the four—Darya, Sita, Lucas, Magdalena." _And me_ , hissed a voice in Roxanne's head. _Me, if I hadn't left early for the holidays. Me, if I'd been there, with my friends._ Guilt and grief gnawed at the inside of her stomach.

Henry was quiet for several minutes. Then, suddenly, Roxanne heard a clink of glass. Henry had produced a bottle of Firewhisky and four glasses.

"Four drinks," he explained, setting the glasses on the table. "One for each of them."

Roxanne raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to get me sad and drunk?"

Henry snorted, pouring the Firewhisky. "You've never been one for drawn-out goodbyes." He paused, gently touching her hand. "I thought this was better."

Roxanne closed her eyes, suddenly seized—as she often was—by overwhelming gratitude for a boyfriend who not only knew, but also embraced her most frustrating qualities. Swallowing, Roxanne picked up the first glass, thinking not of her sadness and exhaustion, as she met Henry's eyes, but of a New Year—a future—that could only be brighter.

 **Three.**

Lily and Tommy

31 December 2036

Lily balanced three mugs of cocoa on a tray, entering the sitting room of hers and Tommy's London flat—where Tommy was dozing on the sofa. Little Nora was fast asleep on his chest, her blond curls splayed about her head like a halo.

After a festive Christmas with the extended family, Lily and Tommy had opted for a quiet New Year's Eve to themselves—their first as a family of three. Nora had been thrilled at the prospect of staying up until midnight, but the three-year-old had ultimately succumbed to exhaustion. Lily couldn't blame her. It had been an exhausting week for them all.

Setting the tray on the coffee table, Lily settled down next to Tommy on the sofa. Gently, she brushed a strand of his sandy hair away from his eyes. At once, he stirred, blinking slowly.

"Hey," he smiled blearily. He looked down at Nora, who was still passed out on his chest. "When did she get here?" he asked.

"Hmm," Lily said thoughtfully. "About a week ago, now."

Tommy laughed, patting Nora's back, and a comfortable silence fell over the room. Lily gazed at Nora.

"I still can't believe her," she whispered, resting her head on Tommy's shoulder. "I thought I was going to cry all over her on Christmas Eve."

Tommy chuckled. "I think your gran cried enough for the both of you," he murmured, and Lily gave a slightly strangled giggle.

There was a small pause. Then, Tommy cleared his throat. "I was talking to your dad yesterday," he said softly, "and he mentioned that…that a house across the street from theirs is on the market."

Lily raised her head, eyes wide. "What?"

Tommy was grinning. "What d'you say we take a trip to Godric's Hollow—you, me, Nora?"

Lily opened her mouth to answer—but no words came out. Trembling, Lily pressed her lips to Tommy's, then buried her face in his neck. He kissed her forehead.

 **Two.**

Victoire and Teddy

31 December 2017

Victoire squeezed Teddy's fingers as they walked through the wrought-iron archway of the Hogsmeade Memorial Cemetery. It was not her first visit to the graveyard—she had accompanied her parents to Uncle Fred's grave numerous times. And she could vividly remember herself as a young girl, clutching her Uncle Dennis's hand as he told her about his brave brother Colin.

But this…this was different. Victoire trembled slightly as Teddy led her towards the front of the cemetery.

Teddy glanced at her. "Are you cold?" he asked softly.

Victoire shook her head. "No," she whispered. "No…I'm fine."

Teddy nodded, but then wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. At last, they reached the large granite headstone that Victoire had seen only twice before. Two names were carved into the gray stone in bold lettering.

REMUS  
and  
TONKS

Gently pulling away from Teddy, Victoire got to her knees in front of the grave. For several moments, she simply stared at the words, trying to let them sink in.

"It doesn't say their full names," Victoire said finally, her voice tight. "I…I never noticed."

Teddy let out a gruff chuckle from behind her. "Yeah…it was my gran's idea—her way of finally accepting that my mum hated her name, I reckon."

Victoire tried to smile, but she couldn't. Teddy's words had ignited something within her—a realization, an understanding—that Nymphadora Tonks had once lived—laughed—grumbled about her name—that Remus Lupin had once held his son—once stood at the head of an army, fighting for Teddy's future…

Hot tears burned Victoire's cheeks. With a shaking finger, she gently touched the 'T' in 'TONKS.'

"Thank you," she whispered—two words, and they were all she could manage.

Suddenly, Victoire felt Teddy's hand on her shoulder, and she squeezed her eyes shut—and then, the very next instant, she found herself in a crushing embrace from which Teddy did not release her for a long while.

 **One.**

Dominique and Malcolm

31 December 2029

Dominique smiled across the sitting room of Malcolm's flat, sipping champagne. Malcolm and Magnus had their heads together over a wireless radio, listening intently to a rerun of a recent Scotland versus Ireland Quidditch match. In all her years of loving Quidditch, Dominique had only ever known Woods to be so enraptured by reruns.

"Happy New Year, Harpy."

Dominique turned. Melinda, Malcolm's older sister, had just entered the flat.

Dominique grinned. "Happy New Year."

"I reckon I've got to be nice to you now that you're almost family," Melinda sighed exaggeratedly. "Even if you are a _Harpy_."

Dominique laughed. "Malcolm's managed it."

"Yes, well, he's getting something more out of it, isn't he?" Melinda smirked. "Where is he—oh." She spotted her brothers hunched over the wireless and rolled her eyes.

"Does this always happen?" Dominique asked, amused.

"Wait until my cousins get here—it'll be a madhouse," Melinda muttered. "Wood men can't do a single holiday without Quidditch. My mum and I are the only sane ones."

"Debatable," Dominique snorted. "You were my Quidditch captain, remember? I haven't forgotten the early morning practices."

Melinda laughed. "I suppose neither of us are what they call 'normal girls.'" She paused, beaming at Dominique. "Still, it's nice to have another one around here."

Suddenly, there was an explosion of cursing, and both Dominique and Melinda swiveled around.

"Half-time, and Ireland's one goal ahead," Magnus groaned.

Melinda rolled her eyes. "Mags, this match is a week old. You _know_ Scotland wins—"

"Bloody hell, Mel, don't ruin it!"

Melinda made an exasperated noise, disappearing into the kitchen. "I'm getting food."

Dominique chuckled, walking to the sofa and sitting next to Malcolm. He looked up and grinned at her, slipping an arm around her waist.

"What d'you reckon this year's going to be like?" he whispered in her ear.

Dominique felt the band of warmth where her engagement ring sat on her left hand, and smiled. "Best one yet."

 **Happy New Year.**

Louis and Adelaide

1 January 2025

"'Ow many girlfriends 'ave you 'ad?"

Louis's cheeks flushed. "Erm…"

Adelaide looked amused. "Don't worry, I am not your muzzer."

Louis grinned ruefully. "Right…well…nine. Ten, if you count an eight-day-long thing from my seventh year—which I don't."

Adelaide laughed. "You 'ave been busy."

Louis ran a hand through his hair. "No…just—er—slightly stupid about girls."

Adelaide smiled. "Well, it eez your turn to ask a question."

Louis studied Adelaide's face where they sat in the seaside backyard of his grandparents' Marseilles mansion. Dimly, he could hear the rumble of chatter from inside—his grandparents' New Year's parties were famous.

"Why did you want to be a Healer?"

Adelaide looked surprised. "I 'ave wanted to heal since I was six," she said softly, smiling. "It…it eez more zan saving people. It eez healing families—saving 'appiness."

Louis felt something stir within him, a rush of something electric.

"My turn," Adelaide whispered. "Why did you find me after your godmuzzer's funeral?"

Louis closed his eyes. "It's stupid," he muttered. "I was angry at you—"

"You never said zat."

Louis opened his eyes. "Because I knew…the moment I saw you that you…you felt, just as hard."

Adelaide was quiet for a moment. "Zat eez a good answer."

Louis looked at her. "You are a good person."

Adelaide gazed back at him. Suddenly, there was a burst of sound from the house, and they both jumped.

"That'll be the countdown," Louis rose from the garden bench, holding out his hand. "We should go."

Adelaide smiled, taking his hand.

"… _cinq_ … _quatre_ … _trois_ …"

"You are a good person, too, Louis Weasley," Adelaide murmured—and Louis was suddenly aware of how close she was. Her face was inches from his own, her bright blue eyes blazing.

"… _deux_ … _une_ … _bonne année!_ "

And as the clock struck twelve on the first of January, Louis Weasley kissed Adelaide Moreau in a field of sea lavender, and his only wish was that he never had to stop.

* * *

Author's Note:

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE! Wishing all of you lovely people every bit of prosperity and happiness the world has to offer in the coming year.

Special thanks to Gizzy's Mama for the idea for this story; this one's for you! I'm humbled and honored that so many of you loved my OCs and embarrassingly extensive Next Gen head canon from TDoC enough to request more about them. For this story, I challenged myself by limiting myself to a word count: 325 words per couple. ('Six' is 650 words since there are two couples.)

Hope you enjoyed!

Much love,  
Ari


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